The Mysterious Heir (22 page)

Looking up, she saw a stern look flash in his eyes. She did not wish to anger him further than Anthony already had, so she placed her hand upon his arm and went quietly with him.

Once they were inside the vast ballroom, almost the first sight to meet her eyes was that of Lord Kingston, once again urbane and cool, quite soberly holding forth to a group of gentlemen.

“He is not with Anthony, no. I expect he had no wish to dirty his hands further. Or his clothes, for that matter,” the Earl said obliquely. “I cannot, alas, open the dancing,” he sighed, “but then, I have repair work to do. I shall ask you, Elizabeth, to do that honor with Cousin Richard. Now, come with me, and remember that it is not quite the end of the world. Or else our vicar would be much busier than he now is.”

Somehow Elizabeth managed to begin the dance with Cousin Richard. He was, as usual, closemouthed. But two things that he did surprised Elizabeth even in her well of wretchedness. He told her immediately, with a rare smile, that as Anthony was only a young cub, no one would give the matter a second thought. And then he danced with her exquisitely. Soon the set was joined by others, and before long the four musicians were playing merry country tunes for several reeling couples.

As soon as she could, Elizabeth left the dance floor, leaving a startled Lady Isabel to discover Cousin Richard's unexpected grace. Elizabeth did as best she could to obey her host's instructions. She commiserated with Mrs. Woods about the folly of marrying a doctor and thus spending every social evening alone whilst he found some occupation for himself. She agreed with a Mrs. Stanley that the cost of both butter and lace was prohibitive these days. As she felt it was the least she could do to make amends for Anthony, she listened to the initially offended gentleman tell her in lurid detail every one of his son Billy's war-struck nightmares. After a while, she could not tell if it was that everyone was being exquisitely correct socially or if they had indeed forgotten the extent of Anthony's comments and marked it all down to his intoxication.

At length, when the evening was half gone, a pale but blotchy-faced Anthony crept into the room. Lord Beverly stood at his one side, Dr. Woods at the other. In the hush that had fallen upon his entrance, Anthony said wretchedly in a weak voice, “Terribly sorry. I had no intention of disrupting dinner. Beg forgiveness.”

“Lad looks like he's been dragged through a hedge backwards.” The doctor's wife sighed.

“Of course you're forgiven, lad. Just remember in future, wine and politics don't mix.” The squire laughed.

“Wine and rich food don't mix neither, as he's doubtless discovered,” one of the other gentlemen commented. Before long, almost every one of the assembled guests had walked over to Anthony to condole with him. The elder ladies clucked in motherly fashion and their daughters smiled in sympathy. The gentlemen made hearty jests about the power of spirits and recounted some of their own youthful indiscretions. After what Lord Beverly deemed a decent interval, he nudged Anthony rather forcibly in the ribs. Anthony grimaced, then made a wobbly bow and excused himself from the company.

The musicians played on, the guests seemed to have forgotten the whole, but Elizabeth stood at the sidelines and despaired. Her self-imposed exile did not last. For Owen, who for once was not sleeping his dinner off, perhaps because the music was too loud, appeared before her with a plate of tipsy trifle. “This is awfully good, Elizabeth,” he said shyly. “Do have some. It is exceptionally good,” he urged.

“Owen's right,” the Earl said, looming up from the shadows. “It is awfully good. Thank you, Owen. I'm sure Elizabeth will like it. She had no dessert, you know.”

“I know,” Owen said sagely, as though he well knew the lack of dessert accounted for most of the world's sorrows. Then he made a stiff little bow and left to peruse the dessert table for anything he might have missed.

The Earl put the plate down carefully, then faced Elizabeth. “Come. It's all righted now. No need to castigate yourself. For he was far too far down the table for you to stop once he was in full spate. But it really doesn't matter.”

“The things he said—” Elizabeth began.

“Were things that everyone believes to have been brought on by an excess of wine,” the Earl said quickly.

She looked the Earl full in the face and blurted, “But they weren't. It's what he truly believes.”

“He is very young,” he answered patiently, “and the ideas of our youth tend to be extreme. Were you never young, Elizabeth?” he asked quizzically. “Bev was used to dress all in scarlet and pink,” he mused. “The most shocking
shade of pink. I used to think his poor father would have apoplexy when he saw his only begotten son decked out like a fortune-teller at a fair. And even Simon, the most levelheaded fellow once he got his growth, was enraptured of the idea of running off to sea in his salad days. And I… You well know how I covered myself with glory in my youth. So you need not blame Anthony, nor yourself. I think half the problem is how very seriously you have taken him. It is not wise to take young men too seriously. Or older ones, for that matter.” He laughed.

“And, no,” he said, looking at her steadily, “he has not ruined all his chances. And,” he added with a small smile, “even that matters less each day.”

Elizabeth could not quite understand his comment, and dared not try to understand further. She only smiled and felt her anxiety slip away. She stood wreathed in smiles, glowing dumbstruck, like a morning glory in the sunlight of his shadow. And then he turned away to chat with another guest, leaving Elizabeth alone to damn herself for six sorts of a fool.

12

The guests crept about the great house with unaccustomed stealth. Except for Lord Beverly, who, bereft of his boon companion, occupied his time with strolling in the gardens, occasionally moved by some inner thought to slashing the heads off intrusive flowers which called themselves to his wavering attention. Elizabeth, watching Lord Beverly from a window, was tempted to go outside and warn him of the danger of incipient murder that she had seen gleaming in the head gardener's eyes as he observed Lord Beverly's unorthodox method of working off his impatience. But she could not bring herself to stir from the house. For it was Anthony who was being interviewed by the Earl this morning, and fiends with hot pincers could not have budged her until the interview was over.

The Earl had not seemed angry with his rash young cousin the day after the party, nor the day after that. Both Elizabeth and Anthony had breathed sighs of relief as things went on in much the same manner that they had before. But this morning the Earl had put down his coffee cup and gently interrupted Anthony in mid-sentence as he was outlining his plans to accompany Lord Kingston to Town to see to the acquisition of some new neckcloths.

“Oh, pity,” the Earl had drawled. “I did hope that you might be free this morning, Anthony. For there were some things that I wished to converse with you about…alone.”

Anthony had put down his buttered toast and given Elizabeth one stricken glance. Between the space of two heartbeats,
Lord Kingston had said lightly, “Go ahead, Tony. The trip can wait, for it never was of prime import. And needs must when the devil drives, eh, lad?”

Elizabeth could see Anthony struggling with his reply. He had come to think himself very much the man-about-town in his days at Lyonshall, and she knew he would have dearly loved to say something equally flippant and outrageous. She knew Anthony detested the idea of being thought as a supplicant for the Earl's favors, especially in front of Lord Kingston. But, she saw with blessed relief, Anthony was not blind to reality. He choked for a second and then said casually, “Harry's quite right, Cousin Morgan. I've got a drawer full of neckcloths anyway. I'm at your service this morning. We can ride out tomorrow, Harry—that is, if it's all right with you?” he added with a very youthful look of entreaty toward his new friend.

“Certainly, certainly,” Lord Kingston said smoothly. “I shall not wear the willow, not with two lovely ladies present, at any rate.”

Anthony had gone off like a sheep to the slaughter, Elizabeth thought, and the rest of the company trailed off in their own pursuits. But again, none went far from the study where the Earl and Anthony were met. Lord Kingston had initially tried to capture Elizabeth's attention with light flirtation, quizzing her about life in Tuxford and her plans for the future. But even though a few scant weeks ago she would have been thrilled to receive the attentions of a gentleman such as he, now she had no thought of him.

It was not only because she was nervously thinking about what was going forth in the Earl's study. Somehow, Lord Kingston, with all his graces, made her feel uncomfortable. He was so pleasant, so charming, so very flattering, that he set her teeth on edge. For all his unpredictable behavior and for all his occasional thorniness, Elizabeth always welcomed the Earl's company. Of course, she admitted to herself, that might well be only because of her personal feelings toward him. But, she thought further, perhaps it was also because the Earl treated all who came across his path, male, female, servant, or child, in the same manner. Whereas Lord Kingston treated only the ladies with unflagging courtesy and condescension.

She would, she realized in her contrary way, be far more pleased with Lord Kingston if he made one of his snide or cutting remarks toward her on occasion, as he did to any of the gentlemen. Surely, she reasoned, she could not always please him, just because she was a female. But so he treated her. And so she did not seek to make his acquaintance any further than she already had. Perhaps for that reason he seemed determined to coax a smile, win a laugh, achieve a coy and pleased response from her. He seemed to have intensified his efforts in that behalf of late.

Elizabeth borrowed a line from Cousin Richard and pleaded letters she must write, and in that manner escaped from Lord Kingston's attentions.

It was odd, Elizabeth thought, after she had escaped Lord Kingston's presence once again, that he did not seem to pursue Lady Isabel. For the two seemed a perfect pair. Both seemed staples of the ton, both cared for finery and gossip, and both affected the same air of elegance. But neither seemed too impressed by the other. Lady Isabel's uninterest was understandable. If she had set her cap for the Earl, that was certainly comprehensible enough to Elizabeth. But she could not fathom why Lord Kingston seemed so bored with the lady, even though he claimed a passing acquaintance with her. Perhaps, Elizabeth opined idly, it was an acquaintance that had ended badly.

Now Elizabeth sat in the library with a clean sheet of paper before her and pondered nothing other than Anthony's progress. She could no more have written to her Uncle at this moment than she could have burst into the Earl's study, as she longed to do, to discover what was being said. She did essay a line or two to her uncle, but looking down at the insipid stuff she had written, she realized he would have thought her run mad to waste postage on such inconsequential drivel. She was engaged in tearing the paper into squares when Cousin Richard came hesitantly through the door.

“Terribly sorry,” he said, seeing her mutilating the letter.

“I did not know anyone was in here,” and he began to leave the room.

He looked so distraught, so pale-faced and shaken, that Elizabeth sprang to her feet. “Oh, no, Richard,” she cried, “I was only just leaving. You needn't leave on account of me.”

He hesitated and then came back into the room. She had never seen him looking so wretched. His long thin face was set in dour lines, his hair was disarrayed, and his hands clenched and reclenched on the morning paper he held.

“It's only that I was looking for Morgan, you see,” he said anxiously.

Elizabeth realized that Richard had come late to table this morning, and that Richard seldom seemed aware of what went forth in the house, so she said quickly, “Anthony is with Morgan having his interview. In his study,” she went on, seeing the look of consternation upon Richard's grim countenance.

“But I must speak with him. Now,” Richard said with agitation.

“You could send word in, if it's an emergency,” Elizabeth said doubtfully, unable to imagine an emergency dire enough to interrupt such a confidential matter.

“No, no. I can't do that,” Richard muttered, pacing the room rapidly. “Elizabeth,” he finally said, stopping to look at her, “I shall give you the message for Morgan. Tell him that I am called away. Tell him I had to leave for London again.”

“Again?” Elizabeth blurted in surprise. Then, to make a recover, she said with genuine concern, “Is it bad news?”

“Very bad,” Richard replied.

“Oh, dear,” Elizabeth said, coming forward to lay a hand upon Richard's hand in sympathy. His hand, she discovered, was cold and trembling. “I am so sorry,” she said, looking at the miserable young man. For coming up close, she could see that which one often forgot, that Richard was only a young man after all.

“I don't deserve your sympathy,” he said with some force. “Ah, well,” he went on, looking down at her, “of all the fools assembled here for this judging of suitable heirs, you alone seem to be the most honest and the sanest of the bunch.”

“Richard!” Elizabeth said in shock. Not only were his words bitter and insulting, but he had never said so much in such a short time before.